


Granite and Gold

by surreal_eyes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cancer, Character Death, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, Makkachin Dies (Yuri!!! on Ice), Victor Nikiforov Dies, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreal_eyes/pseuds/surreal_eyes
Summary: I dreamed of a casket covered in gold medals. It turned into this. I'm sorry.Please note the tags. There's nothing graphic (in regards to descriptions of death/etc) but Victor does die. Be aware.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	Granite and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I dreamed of a casket covered in gold medals. It turned into this. I'm sorry.
> 
> Please note the tags. There's nothing graphic (in regards to descriptions of death/etc) but Victor does die. Be aware.

Victor made it through Russian nationals, taking the gold.

He made it through Worlds, taking silver. He positively beamed up at Yuuri, on top of the podium with gold.

After that, things went downhill.

“I wanted you to finish the season before I told you.” Victor explained over takeout boxes one night in Saint Petersburg.

“Told me what?”

“I’m dying, Yuuri.”

Brain tumors. Inoperable. Victor had known since Sochi, though he’d kept it from Yuuri. Yuuri was too shocked by the news to be upset about it’s delayed reveal.

Victor was logical about the entire thing, talking about how once they were married Yuuri would inherit his… well, everything. He went on about power of attorneys and medical choices.

“Please tell me this is an elaborate, horribly planned joke.” Yuuri begged.

Victor’s sad smile and head shake said enough.

“I’ll retire and take care of you.”

“You will not.”

“But Vitya…”

“You _will not._ ”

It was the little things Yuuri noticed first.

The winces.

The pauses when Victor got up, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

The cabinet of medication – once full of muscle salves and athletic wrap, now full of orange pill bottles.

Then the bigger things.

Rides to the hospital instead of the rink.

Migraines that left Victor bedridden.

Bruises blooming purple on pale skin.

Victor slept less at night but took more naps during the day. He begged off coaching more and more as time progressed, leaving Yuuri with Yakov until Yakov finally shooed the boy away out of fear he’d hurt himself, being so distracted.

Eventually Yuuri didn’t even bother to try to stay. He followed Victor around, everywhere.

By the time summer ended and the season started, Victor was his coach only on paper. He attended the events, but the stress of travel and competition left him bedridden for days afterwards.

At night, Yuuri would hold him close, try not to think about how thin he was getting. Victor would latch on to him, sometimes quietly, sometimes talking in a stream of consciousness that he just needed to get out.

Sometimes he cried, quiet sobs against Yuuri’s back. Sometimes Yuuri cried with him.

By all accounts, Yuuri should have completely bombed the season.

He didn’t. He skated for Victor, and he won.

He presented Victor with gold after gold. Victor kissed each one, smiled for the cameras, and when they were in private, he’d kiss Yuuri and tell him over and over how proud he was.

When the season ended, Yuuri announced his retirement.

Victor was angry, but neither of them had the energy to fight about it.

Yuuri spent that summer caring for Victor as he weakened, just _being_ with him. He still skated, still trained in a modified, gentler way, but that was mostly at Victor’s urging.

“Let me watch you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Victor asked, and who was Yuuri to deny him? So they would go to the rink, usually every other day when Victor was feeling good, and Victor would sit at the boards on a tall stool and Yuuri would skate.

There was never any real coaching, at least not from Victor. Yakov would, half-heartedly, offer advice.

But Yuuri skated for Victor, not for competition.

Every once in a while, on very very good days, Victor would skate too. The rink would clear as if by some unspoken agreement, giving them space. They’d drift lazily through pieces of their pair skate if he was feeling up to it. If not, they’d do lazy laps, hand in hand.

“I don’t believe in heaven.” Victor stated once as they took off their skates. At Yuuri’s questioning look, he explained, “Because this is heaven already. Here, with you.”

Yuuri excused himself to the restroom and hid until Yurio found him. The blonde said nothing, just opened his arms, and Yuuri sobbed into his shoulder.

Makkachin passed first. It was expected. She was old and tiring.

It _hurt_.

Victor went to bed the night after and just… gave up. He lived, in a biological way, but he had no energy and no willpower to try anything beyond the bare minimum.

Yuuri laid with him or sat by his side. They’d watch skating videos or cheesy movies. Yuuri bought them a pair of Switches and they’d spend time on Animal Crossing exploring islands together. Sometimes they would just talk, about anything and everything. Sometimes Yuuri would read out loud – Victor had never read Lord of the Rings, so they started there.

Yuuri would help Victor shower. They both ignored the clumps of silver hair that gathered on the drain and the bruises that covered his too-thin, frail body.

Every night, he kissed Victor goodnight, told him how much he loved him, and laid next to him staring at the wall until he fell into some sort of mockery of sleep.

Every morning, he woke up praying Victor was still with him. _One more day. Please, one more day._

It happened so quietly, so peacefully.

One moment, Victor’s thumb was rubbing against Yuuri’s ring as Yuuri read out loud to him.

The next, it stopped.

The funeral was small.

Yakov cried. It was like watching a mountain crumble.

Yurio cried, clinging to Yuuri like the teenager he was.

Before the casket was lowered, Yuuri set five gold medals on top.

Japanese Nationals. Worlds. 4 Continents. Skate America. Grand Prix.

“They’re not five gold world championships.” He apologized. He imagined Victor’s chuckle. It hurt. “But they were all for you.”

Returning to their – his – empty apartment afterwards was like being plunged into an icy river.

Yuuri cried until he physically couldn’t anymore.

He slept on the couch. The bedroom hurt too much.

A week later, Yurio showed up with luggage and moved in. He didn’t ask. Yuuri didn’t argue.

Yurio took the main bedroom. Yuuri moved into the guest room.

“Do you want to go back to Japan?” Yurio asked.

“No.”

“Do you still want to skate?” Yurio asked.

“… No.”

“You hesitated.”

It took a month before Yuuri was ready to face the ice again.

When he did, he lasted ten minutes before tears overtook him.

The next try, he lasted fifteen minutes. The next… twenty.

After that, it was like a switch had flipped. He spent more time on the ice than off it.

Yurio had to physically grab him and drag him home every night.

Yakov didn’t train him, not exactly. There was no formal contract or even verbal acknowledgement.

Still, he watched. Arms tighter. Try rocking to the left instead of the right. Focus on your center of gravity.

Gradually Yuuri polished the elements his lack of training had dulled.

One day in July, Yakov handed him declaration to compete forms, pre-filled with his name and information.

He swallowed hard at seeing ‘Katsuki-Nikiforov’.

He signed the bottom.

It was a snowy winter day when Yuuri settled to his knees in front of a granite headstone and reached to unloop a ribbon from his neck. The Olympic gold medal was heavy in his hands.

“We did it, Vitya.” He said quietly.

He kissed the metal surface before dropping it to the snow, letting the ribbon pool around it. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead against the cool granite. He traced his fingers over Victor’s name over and over. The gold letters were bright against the dark stone.

“Come on, Katsudon.” Yurio’s voice broke through the fog.

Yuuri pulled himself together and managed a shaky smile at the blonde.

_Focus on who’s still here._ His therapist’s words echoed in his head.

He wiped away his tears and stood, ignoring aching joints. His hand brushed against the polished granite one more time before turning.

_Focus on who’s still here._

“I booked you two hours of ice time this evening. We’re going to run that rough transition until you can do it in your sleep.”

Yurio grunted. “You got it, Coach.”

In the winter sunlight, gold glittered against granite.


End file.
